


Douchebags

by CrownedAnxietyAttack



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Drug Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, Incest, M/M, NSFW, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Rape/Non-con Elements, Smoking, Smut, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-25
Updated: 2016-11-27
Packaged: 2018-09-02 04:28:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8651197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CrownedAnxietyAttack/pseuds/CrownedAnxietyAttack
Summary: Douchebag AU is an AU that takes place in a modern setting with Stan and Ford as teenagers. The two have been rivals since birth. They hate each other because they are jealous of each other’s abilities (Ford wants Stan’s strength, while Stan wishes he had Ford’s intellect) and are also often confused as one another because they look a lot a like. Without sugar coating anything, it's safe to say that these two are horrible people. Stan is a bullying jock and Ford is a holier-than-thou honor student that want nothing more than to rip out each others' throats. However both of them have a shit ton of secrets to protect.





	1. Forced Collision

The heavy smell of sweat and depression rolled off the walls. The thick aura swirling around bodies as people moved inside the building like zombies. They swayed. Side to side they walked on the scuffed and disgusting floors. Unidentifiable puddles were despised, but not always avoidable. The zombies were loud upon voicing their hunger, but grew quiet as a body passed by. The spring in their step was provided by blasting and vibrating emerald green ear buds and the sight of another odd figure in the hallway. A twisted grin curled on their face as their steps began to bounce, deciding between a dance and a fight as the buds were tugged from their ears. Brown eyes lifted from a tattered satchel and an electric fire rushed through both of their bodies. The grin broadened. The frown deepened. They were only two feet apart. Any closer and there would be bloodshed.

“Hey, Stanford,” the smiling teen purred, a wolf in a boy’s body, “How you doin’ today? Yer head hurtin’?”

Stanford glared back. His body was calm. He looked harmless, but there rested a coiling venomous snake under his skin. “What do you want, Bellomi?” Stanford asked lowly as he opened his locker, tossing a book carelessly inside.

The teen lifted a brow as he began to circle around the other. “Really? Yer callin’ me by my surname now, Pines?”

“You and I are not friends. Nor are we acquaintances. Therefore I will address you by your last name. Besides, when have I **_ever_ ** called you _Stanley_?” Stanford scoffed, closing his locker.

“I could make you call me a lot of things if you gave me the chance, baby,” Stanley purred as his large hands snatched Stanford’s hips and yanked him backwards, grinding against his ass.

Stanford snarled as he twisted in Stan’s arms and thrusted out his arm to bash in his face, but instead his fist was easily caught as Stan cackled. “As per usual, full of fire but no burn,” he sneered.

Stanford gritted his teeth as his body was pressed tightly against the other. His mouth was full of the teenager’s cologne. The chemicals put a sour taste on his tongue. This _person_ placed a disgusting flavor in his mouth. Years upon years Stanford had to deal with this muscle bound _shithead_ who regretfully looked exactly like him. Not only that, but their names were similar too. Growing up with such a buffoon causing a ruckus in his classes and being mistaken as him (and worse, being thought to be **_related_ ** to him) was GPA crushing. He was sure that Stanley had the same feelings towards him, if not altered to fit his brainless aspirations.

“Stanley, let’s go,” a large boy barked, his dark blonde hair slicked back and his judgemental green eyes sneering at Stanford before they roamed onto more prey.

Stanley smiled at his friend before looking back at Stanford with a shady smirk. “See ya later, dumbass,” Stan chuckled. He took hold of the brim of Ford’s black baseball cap and peeled it off his head. Ford glared. His cap was placed backwards on Stan’s head, a few dyed blonde locks spilling from the adjustment hole in the front as Ford’s own closely shaved head was exposed to the cold air.

“Ya might wanna cover this ugly thing up,” Stan sneered as he smacked the back of Ford’s head, grinning when he saw Ford bite his lips to stay silent as his eyes filled with hate and agony.

Stan pushed him aside with ease. Ford’s back smacked into his locker and he held onto the yelp lodged in his throat. No matter how many locker dials ended up in his spine, he would never give that man the pleasure of hearing his pain.

Stanford glared as he watched Stanley’s figure retreat down the hall, showing off his new hat to the blonde as more of their kind surrounded them.

“Man, Stanley’s got a serious hard on for Crampelter,” a slow voice drawled.

Ford jumped and his eyes turned to the tall blonde suddenly standing beside him. “What do you mean, Fidds?” Ford asked.

The blonde raised a brow as his dark blue eyes stared down at him coldly. It wasn't anything personal. Ford knew that’s just how Fiddleford was. In all honesty, Ford would rather be given the cold eyes than the other choice. Only one option allowed life. “Look at the way he’s sucking up to him. It's pathetic,” Fiddleford said dryly, “He stole your hat to show off to the quarterback. How depressing.”

“Whatever. That trash isn’t worth the atoms he’s made of. He can keep that hat,” Ford scoffed as he dug into his bag. He pulled out a dark blue ski cap and tugged it onto his head, successfully covering the gnarly scar along the back of his skull.

Fiddleford hummed as he watched his friend with disinterest on his face. “I’m waiting for the day you finally sock him in the jaw,” he murmured.

Ford shot the blonde a crooked smile. “You would love that wouldn't you?”

A sickening grin spread across the blonde’s face, his teeth appearing sharp from the bloodlusting malice in his eyes. “I would relish it.”

Ford snorted. His blood curdled at the unsettling sight. “Let’s go, killer.”

Ford sighed as he rubbed the back of his tense neck. He could use a massage. Classes were the same as usual. Stanley was loud. The teacher held no control of the classroom. Stanford intervened. Stanley tried to goad him into a fight, and instead got a taste of Fiddleford’s bloodlust and a nice set of teeth marks on his forearm. Stanford sighed as he dropped his hand at his side. At least that was over. For now. Usually by now Stanford would be at home but recently his teacher had convinced him to take on tutoring, telling him that it would give himself appeal to colleges. As if his grades weren't already groundbreaking. Stanford smirked to himself. Honestly the only reason why he was doing this was to feel superior if he were to get down to the brass tacks. As well as take up time. Anything to stay out of the house. Anything.

“Get _**out** _ of my classroom!” a voice snarled.

The familiarity of his teacher’s voice pulled Ford’s attention from the floor and he stared in shock as he watched his respectable teacher shove a student out of his room.

“What the fuck is your problem! I was giving you an easier option you dipshit! Who do you think you are to tell _**me** _ no!” Stanley snarled. His chocolate brown eyes flickered to Ford and stilled on the teacher, quickly returning to his copy and staring with a look of betrayal on his face.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” Stanley hissed.

His reaction was so violent and lacking his usual playful grin that Ford actually jumped at his words. Of course the novelty wore off quickly and soon he had the same look of spite reflected on his face.

“I called Mr. Pines here,” the teacher replied as he shifted his tie back into place, “from now on, Stanley, Stanford will be your tutor instead of me.”

The two froze in place. Ford watched as Stanley’s eyes lit up with flames of rage and a flash of something blue that Stanford couldn't make out.

“Are you fucking kidding me! That shithead isn't gonna teach me jack. What’s wrong with our...tutoring system? You know I can change anything you need to. I’m pretty _flexible_ ,” Stan growled through his teeth, tossing looks at Ford who raised a brow. He was surprised to see that Stanley actually cared for his grades. Especially in a class that he generally didn’t pay attention in.

“That arrangement no longer works. You will have to study with Stanford, or else you fail my class and get held back,” the teacher replied stiffly.

Stanley’s eye twitched as his fists balled at his sides. Stanford couldn't help but smile to himself. It sucked ass that he had to tutor Stanley, but at the same time it was nice to see the teenager lose control and be forced to do something he didn't want to.

“Is there any way I can change your-.”

“You will be taking tutoring lessons from Stanford from now on. End of discussion,” the teacher hissed and slammed the door.

Stanley stared at the door before turning to look at Ford who could only smirk smugly in reply.

“Where would you like to study?” Ford asked with a large grin.

Stanley bared his teeth in a snarl as Ford’s smile widened until his sharp canines were exposed. Maybe this time around the snake will be able to take down the mangy mutt.


	2. Threats

“So...yer telling me that _you_ are tutoring Stanley Bellomi?” Fiddleford asked slowly.

“Every day after school,” Ford hummed in agreement as he removed a textbook from his locker.

“Holy...holy shit that’s priceless,” Fiddleford cackled as tears sprung into his eyes.

Stanford rolled his eyes at his friend’s reaction. Of course **_he_ ** thought it was funny. _He_ didn’t have to tutor the brainless oaf. “Yeah yeah, laugh it up all you want. You do realize that now I’m tutoring him I’m not going to have any time to hang out with you,” Ford said offhandedly as he pulled his satchel onto his shoulder and closed his locker.

Fiddleford’s smile disappeared and his eye twitched. “Is it too late to kill him?” he asked lowly.

Stanford laughed and shook his head. “While I would find that enjoyable, it’s not entirely legal,” he joked as he elbowed Fiddleford’s side into walking.

“I don’t give a fuck on whether it’s legal or not,” Fiddleford grumbled.

“I know,” Ford said with a fond smile.

Fiddleford’s hand snatched Ford’s elbow, catching him by surprise as he glanced at his friend. Fiddleford had become somber. His dark blue eyes held life. There was enough warmth in them to send a surprised chill down Ford’s spine. Those were the eyes of the old Fiddleford, someone he hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Are you going to be okay?” Fiddleford whispered in a hushed tone.

He was afraid. That used to anger Stanford but he hadn’t seen Fiddleford act this way in so long. It was heartwarming. A soft smile spread on Ford’s lips, “I’ll be fine, Fidds. I promise.”

The hand tightened on his elbow before weakening and falling away. Ford’s smile withered away and they silently made their way to class, Ford’s heart mildly warmed from another person’s concern.

Stanford drilled his fingers onto the worn table as he glared at the library entrance. He was _livid_. His hard eyes glanced at the clock. Scratch that. He was **_enraged_**. He knew this was going to happen. This was _Stanley Bellomi_. Why the fuck would he be somewhere on time? Especially for important shit. Stanford began to grind his teeth. The clock continued to _tick tick tick_ and his eye twitched in tune. Two and a half hours late. Two hours and thirty minutes behind schedule. Two hours and thirty minutes _he_ wasted to teach this bastard. The next time he saw his pierced face he was going to-

Just as the clock struck 5:31 a bulky figure sluggishly stumbled through the library doors. Stanley rubbed his throat as his other hand pressed on the small of his back. He was drenched in sweat. His skin slick and his clothes discolored. Ford’s nose wrinkle at the sight of his old hat attached to one of the belt loops on his hip. It was already stained with jock sweat. Disgusting. His curly hair was in disarray, the dyed locks looking as if they were due for a new layer of color. Stanley paused when he spotted Stanford as if he hadn't expected to see him. “What the hell are you still doing here?” Stan grumbled, voice strained and tired.

Stanford swears the table cracked under his hands. “What am I still doing here? Are you fucking kidding me! I was supposed to tutor you two hours and thirty-two minutes ago!” he snapped.

“Two hours and thirty-three minutes, actually,” Stan said with a yawn as he popped his back.

“Shut the fuck up! Where the hell were you!” Stanford snarled.

Stan shot him a sour look. “Unless the letterman jacket didn't tip you off, Einstein, I’m on the football team. Practice is daily and lasts two to three hours. I don’t have time for you. But how about this, I give you twenty bucks to do my homework and pretend that you are tutoring me and we’ll both be happy,” Stan grumbled as he pulled out his wallet.

Red filled Stanford’s eyes as he lashed out and smacked the wallet from Stanley’s hand. “I don’t want your fucking money! I’m here to do a job and I’m going to do it! You think I _**want** _ to be anywhere near you? That is _laughable_ ,” Ford punctuated his words with a manic cackle, “I’m not about to do anything to jeopardize my reputation and no amount of money will convince me otherwise. So sit your ass down so I can beat this information into your fucking thick _**skull**_.”

Something inside Stanley seemed to snap. His eyes stood a little too wide. His cracked lips began to curl to expose his teeth. His body seemed to double in size as his muscles bulged and his clawed hands turned into fists. “That’s a lotta wise ass words comin’ from a pipsqueak like you,” he snarled.

“Fucking _**test me**_. I _**dare you**_ ,” Ford spat, his own fists tightening for a fight.

A hungry grin split across Stanley's face as he approached Stanford, a lust for blood in his wild eyes. “You really think that you can hold yer own against me, bitch?” he snickered.

“That’s a question you should be asking yourself,” Ford snapped back. His hands were shaking. There was so much anger channeled into him at this moment, he was sure that with one strike he could break Stanley's jaw and wipe that smug look off his face. Or at the very least dislocate it. He didn't care which as long as he caused damage.

Stanley's whole body shook as he laughed. The sound booming and threatening as his smile grew larger and larger until Ford could see all of his teeth. “God that car wreck must’ve fucked up your head _real bad_ if you think you can survive a fight against me. But, you know what? We’ve had such a long history of hating each other and we haven't fought since we were twelve. Let's do this. All these years we’ve pent up our rage and it’s time we unleash it. What do you say, _Pines_ ,” Stanley hissed as he grabbed the front of Ford’s shirt and yanked him close.

“Shut the fuck up and hit me already,” Ford shouted as he cocked his fist back as Stan did the same.

“STOP THIS INSTANT!”

The two stilled at the screech and turned their heads to see a very cross school librarian.

“Both of you leave this immediately or I will call the principle!” the woman snapped.

Wordlessly the two boys looked at each other for a few tense moments before they broke away.

“You better not be late tomorrow, bastard,” Ford growled.

“Yeah, like I give a fuck about what you want,” Stan snorted as he turned his back to Ford.

Big mistake.

A book appeared in Stanford’s grasp as he raised it high in the air and brought it down with a loud _**crack** _ on the back of Stanley's head as the librarian gasped. Ford watched, panting, as Stanley stumbled and grunted from the force, but didn't fall. He was a beast. He was on the football team for a reason. Stanley turned to face Ford again, blinking his eyes as he struggled to focus.

“I expect you and your _**stupid** _ undercut hairstyle to be here tomorrow at _**exactly** _ four o’clock. Do you understand me?” Stanford asked slowly.

The librarian was still frozen in shock, but that slimy grin slipped back onto Stanley's lips.

“Yer a sick bastard,” he chuckled.

As if it were all a game.


End file.
